The next morning brought sunshine, which beamed crisp and clear through the recently unburdened skies. The leaves were still loaded with the raindrops that had pounded them through the night and the lightest touch of wind or excited little critter turned them into ad hoc waterfalls and scattered their liquid load on the ground. 

Mornings like these made for the best memories of Claire’s childhood, those mornings when she woke up without a care in the world and nothing to do and rushed outside to greet the sunshine and the doves and the wind in the trees. During all of the time she’d spent here, in her grandparents’ house, Claire could not remember a single instance of bad weather. It’s not that she hadn’t had her share of soggy winters and hot summer winds, it’s just that she never perceived them as bad. 

Life unfolds all its magic in front of the eyes of an enchanted child, it holds nothing back, drunk with generosity and abandon, it shows itself in the ways in which it wants to be seen, ways that become impenetrable to the sight of grown up eyes. The cold winter rain carried feelings and fragrance, the scent of the wet oak trunks and soggy moss and damp earth. The strong summer winds whirled their spirit through the branches, heavy and labored like the raspy breath of a hunted creature in search of a safe place to rest. The whole world was a miracle, every leaf, every sight, every day.

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Read the rest of the chapter on frosenfeld.fika.bar.